A Texas Christmas

by Thomas, Jodi Jodi Thomas

  And she went right on barking directions as if she’d never heard a word he’d said.

  Sloan knew when he was whipped and quickly got out of her way. But then Maryellen Langtry’s husband, Earl, almost plowed him down in his excitement to get to his wife and son.

  Feeling as though he stood smack in the middle of a hurricane, he finally reached the door and assisted Tess to the platform where half the town milled about.

  Farther down at the caboose, a bevy of men were carefully unloading Ira Powell, who was bundled from head to toe. Omie Powell trailed behind them. They were marching to Doc Mitchell’s office like a group of soldiers, having to lift their feet high to clear the huge drifts.

  Watching Tempest LeDoux’s small army with amusement, Sloan put his arm around Tess to protect her from the onslaught.

  Suddenly Tess broke free and flew into her parents’ arms for a joyous reunion.

  Acute loneliness swept over him. He had no one to welcome him. No one, possibly with the exception of Tess, who cared that he’d not frozen to death in the blizzard that was one for the record books.

  He turned away, unable to bear the pain. Shoving his hands into his coat pockets, he encountered the firearms he’d confiscated.

  Finding Charles Flynn in the livestock car unloading his dappled gray, Sloan held out the man’s pistol. “Hope there’s no hard feelings.”

  Flynn took the pistol. “Guess I lost my head for a while. You see, I lost my wife to scarlet fever.”

  “You have my condolences.”

  Grateful that things had worked out, Sloan gathered his horse and led the gelding toward the livery for the night. Tess broke away from the homecoming with Mr. and Mrs. Whitgrove and fell into step with him.

  “Randall Humphrey isn’t at the livery.” Tess pointed toward the freight and baggage car where the blacksmith/ livery owner and a group of men were unloading the Christmas bell.

  Sloan draped an arm casually around her shoulders, enjoying the sound of snow crunching under their feet. “You got it here in time. You have every right to be satisfied.”

  “For a fact I am. Sully, where . . . ?”

  Deacon Brown suddenly appeared, interrupting Tess in midsentence. “Sullivan, can I have a word with you? I got something that needs saying.”

  “What’s that, Deacon?”

  “I’m sure you’re wondering how I came to wander upon the train.” Deacon squinted up at Sloan. “Well, I’ll tell you. I was headed to your ranch to kill you.”

  Tess gasped in alarm and gripped Sloan’s arm.

  “What did I do to you that you wanted to take my life?” Sloan asked quietly.

  “Not to me. My sister. Carrie Huxley ring a bell?”

  Mention of the name knocked the breath from Sloan. An overwhelming stillness seeped into every crack and crevice of his soul. He knew what it must feel like to die. The quiet, the feeling of life leaving his body, and the empty void that was left.

  Unable to look at Tess, unable to bear the questions he knew were in her eyes, he answered, “I remember her.”

  He’d not been able to forget the depth of Carrie’s sorrow when he’d shot and killed her husband. Lord knows he’d tried. Some things stayed with a man and became a part of his fabric whether he wanted them to or not. It didn’t matter that the shooting was a terrible tragic accident. The truth remained; the man had died by Sloan’s hand.

  The north wind ruffled Deacon’s red beard. “My sister hanged herself two weeks ago. She couldn’t live another day without her husband.”

  Shock rippled through Sloan. He momentarily closed his eyes to block out the rush of pain. “I’m truly sorry. If I could go back and undo the events of that day, I would in a heartbeat.”

  “You’re not the man I thought you’d be. I thought I could hate you. I thought it would be easy to pull the trigger and end your life.”

  “What stopped you?”

  “It was several things. The way you cared for the people on the train. The sweetness of that little orphan girl Martha who took a liking to me. The birth of Mrs. Langtry’s babe. The beautiful Christmas carols that I’d not heard in a very long while.” Deacon Brown drew his buffalo robe together. “I’ll leave you and Miss Whitgrove now. Merry Christmas.”

  “Wait.” Sloan reached out to stop him. “You didn’t have to tell me your reason for being here. Why did you?”

  “Felt I owed it to you.”

  “I appreciate that you did.” He took Deacon’s pistol from his pocket. “I need to return this. And do you mind if I ask you a few more questions?”

  “Guess I rightly owe you that, Sullivan.”

  “What were you doing in the livestock car when I found you there?”

  “Looking for an extra gun that Flynn said he had in his saddlebags. He was going to help me kill you.”

  “And the night I encountered you on the landing between the passenger car and caboose?”

  “I wanted to get a look at Mr. Powell. Wondered if he really did have scarlet fever. Thought I might could help.”

  “I wish you’d have told us sooner that you were a doctor,” Tess admonished.

  “Well, I hadn’t practiced in a while. Wasn’t sure if I still had the skill I once had. I’d lost faith in my abilities and swore I’d never treat another patient.”

  Tess smiled. “I’m glad you were there, Dr. Brown. We had so many miracles over the last four days.”

  “Indeed we did, ma’am.”

  “Doctor, won’t you join us for a candlelight service in a few hours?” Tess invited.

  The red-bearded doctor thanked her, then turned and trudged toward the hotel.

  Tess tilted her head to look up at Sloan. “Before Deacon interrupted us, I was about to ask what your plans are.”

  “I don’t have any other than getting some shut-eye, probably in the loft of the livery if Humphrey doesn’t mind.”

  “My mother and father want you to come home with us and accompany us to church tomorrow. They’d like to get to know you better. Especially since I told them you were going to court their spinster daughter.”

  Sloan squinted into the bright afternoon sun that glinted off the snow. “Before you decide about that, I need to tell you the full story of what happened in Panther Bluff. You may boot me out the door and out of your life.”

  He really wouldn’t blame her.

  “Not a chance, Sully.”

  After a relaxing bath and a huge meal of cured ham, sweet potatoes, and string beans, Sloan accompanied Tess and her family to the candlelight service held at the little white church.

  Sloan gazed in wonder at the rows of packed pews. Seemed everyone had reason to give thanks. They’d all made it through the storm and they were grateful.

  He cast a sidelong glance at Tess, who wore a resplendent green dress trimmed with red ribbon that reminded him of mistletoe. How would she react to what he needed to tell her? He tried to steel himself for her cold disdain that would rip his heart to shreds. But he had no choice. He’d not start off with secrets between them. She had a right to know what kind of man he was.

  All too soon, they were back at the spacious Whitgrove house. Sloan and Tess took advantage of her father’s invitation to use his study in which to talk. Tess took a seat on a leather settee while Sloan stood and paced . . . and worried.

  “Carrie Huxley was the wife of my deputy, and they lived in Panther Bluff with their two children. You remind me so much of her, another reason I always avoided contact with you. Seeing you was simply too painful. Carrie was a pretty little thing with another babe on the way.” He took a deep breath. “I stole all their hopes and dreams when I shot and killed her husband and my friend.”

  Tess was silent, absorbing everything. Quite possibly she was pondering how to tell him she didn’t want him in her life. Sloan wished he was a better man, wished he was worthy of her faith and trust, and wished he had more to offer her.

  After a moment or two she spoke, “I’m sure you didn’t mean to.
It was an accident and nothing else.”

  “Be that as it may, a man died for no reason by my hand. Deputy Huxley and I were in a shootout with a vicious outlaw gang. Huxley did the unthinkable. He stepped into my line of fire, trying to get into a better position. In one terrifying, senseless moment Carrie went from a happily married wife to a grieving widow with two young children and another on the way. She was Deacon’s sister.”

  Sloan stopped pacing to stand gazing out the window into the blackness beyond. He couldn’t bear to look at Tess and see loathing in her face. “That’s when I walked away from my job and hung up my Colt.”

  “And you came here and took up ranching.”

  “I figured I couldn’t hurt anybody else if I kept to myself and worked from daylight to dark.” He struggled to get the next words through the tight opening in his throat. “I’ll understand if you don’t want me to court you.”

  Tess’s heart ached for this proud, gentle man. With tears in her eyes, she rose and went to him. “Don’t you dare think I’ll let you go that easily.”

  He drew her into his embrace and buried his face in her hair. She breathed the honest scent that was Sully Sullivan.

  “You’ve been my salvation.” His hoarse whisper nearly undid her.

  She had much to learn about this tall, lean rancher. The depth of love she had for him shook her. She’d never cared this much for anyone before. It was a total all-consuming love, the kind that would endure trials and triumphs.

  Sloan put a finger under her chin and gently raised her face. “I’m not worthy of those tears, my darling Tess.”

  “I beg to differ. It’s because you are worthy that I’m all choked up. I wouldn’t waste tears on just anyone.” A smile curved her lips as she smoothed back a single lock of hair that had fallen onto his forehead.

  His head lowered and she rose on tiptoes to meet him.

  His hand stole around her waist and tugged her closer.

  His heart poured into the heated caresses along the column of her neck and jawline.

  Tess shivered with longing as a deeper need for him tightened in her belly.

  He finally pressed his lips to hers. The kiss was like a brand, erasing all logical thought from her head. She was his now. How could she ever have thought him cold and uncaring?

  Then all of a sudden he raised his head. “Listen.”

  Melodious chimes filled the air as the clock in the study struck midnight.

  “The Christmas bell!” Such a sense of love and wellbeing filled Tess’s chest. She’d never known a more beautiful moment. Years from now she’d look back and remember the joy and complete awe of the night.

  “It’s Christmas Day.” Sloan Sully Sullivan’s low rumble stirred the tendrils of hair at her ear. “Merry Christmas, Tess.”

  Epilogue

  On March 25, 1888, Tess Whitgrove and Sloan Sullivan wed. Family and friends, well-wishers and the curious packed the church in Kasota Springs. And Tempest LeDoux ramrodded the whole affair since she had such extensive experience in nuptial proceedings.

  Following the ceremony, Sloan carried his bride across the threshold of his newly remodeled ranch house, which he finally considered halfway appropriate for his beloved Tess.

  Shortly after their marriage, the Sullivans adopted the four orphan children who had stolen their hearts.

  Each year they celebrated their love and the special joy of Christmas by remembering the blizzard of 1887 and being snowbound on Number 208 of the Fort Worth and Denver City train.

  Dr. Deacon Brown came to visit often, bringing his sister’s three children whose care he had taken over.

  And on February 14, 1889, Mr. and Mrs. Sullivan welcomed the first of their five children.

  AWAY IN THE MANGER

  PHYLISS MIRANDA

  To my precious grandchildren:

  Emma Danielle, Alexander Patton, Emily Shay,

  Abigail Miranda, McKenna Kathleen,

  Christian Tyler, Parker Reagan, and

  Addison Claire, who is my real-life Addie Claire.

  You guys are my inspiration, and I love you.

  Granny

  Chapter 1

  December 1887

  Texas Panhandle

  All Randall Humphrey wanted for Christmas was to be left alone and to celebrate in the only way he knew how—in solitude. He wasn’t sure who thought up all the newfandangled Christmas festivities in Kasota Springs, Texas, but for him it only served as a reminder of the worst day of his life.

  Rand cut into his rare steak just like he’d been doing every Thursday since he arrived in town, accompanied by his makeno-bones-about-it mother, floundering father, and his rebel half brother, a little over two years ago. The cook knew exactly how the blacksmith liked his beef. Just kick it in the butt and pass the dern thing over the fire without touching a skillet.

  Rand would really appreciate his quiet dinner more if he wasn’t so distracted by the townfolks who were fluttering around like a hive of bees, with Edwinna Dewey serving as the queen bee. Taking another bite, Rand figured if he could concentrate on his chewin’ and less on the yammerin’ around him, he might be able to drown out the incessant chatter of the town’s number one gossipmonger.

  His intentions to enjoy a quiet supper at the Springs Hotel, then stop by Slats and Fats Saloon for a cool beer before going back to the blacksmith shop was losing ground pretty damn fast. Right now, the possibilities were about as good as a tumbleweed would have of staying grounded on a windy day.

  “Mr. Humphrey.” Edwinna Dewey’s trill voice penetrated Rand’s thoughts. “Mr. Humphrey, you do remember that my niece and the children are due in from Carroll Creek tomorrow, don’t you?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He wiped his mouth on his napkin and laid it back in his lap. The thought of putting the woman six feet under if she asked him that question again briefly crossed his mind. Over the last two days, if she’d asked it once, she’d asked at least fifty more times.

  “I just want to make sure that you have fresh horses for her and if there’s any repair work that is needed on her carriage, you have a rental for her.” She wiggled a bit, making him think maybe her high-pitched voice was the result of her corset being tightened a little bit too snug.

  “Yes, ma’am.” He knew exactly what her next question would be and fought off reciting it before she could.

  “You haven’t forgotten I’ve already paid you, have you?” Before he could answer, she continued, “I’ll have one of my hands come to drive them to my place.”

  “No, ma’am, I haven’t forgotten,” he answered, after allowing her enough time to ramble on, if she wanted.

  Sure enough, for the umpteenth time, she said, “Now, don’t you forget, Mr. Humphrey.”

  “I won’t. I’ll get them on the road as quickly as possible.”

  “And you’ll take care of their horses?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He took a sip of coffee.

  “I’m not sure if it was a good idea to send your brother to bring them here,” she fretted.

  “That was your decision, ma’am.” He refrained from saying that he wouldn’t have hired his good-for-nothing half brother, James Crockett, to fetch a lame mule. Of course, she hadn’t asked his advice either.

  “You know, Mr. Humphrey, you are so much like your father, except he was much more pleasant to be around. He kept his hair cut and shaved every day.” A quirky smile came to her lips. “He was always smiling and smelled of bay rum and . . .”

  And rye whiskey.

  And you remind me of one of the many women he drank spirits with!

  And . . . He clinched his jaw to keep from speaking the words, then he shot her a look that she could interpret any way she desired.

  The ol’ biddie sashayed back to her table, as though she was the only one in the room.

  Three ladies sat cattycorner from him and were engrossed in conversation about the weather, amongst other things. They reminded him of a field of wildflowers on the last day of aut
umn, all decked out in patterned dresses in varying hues of dark, dull, and boring. Even their surnames reflected such: Mrs. Blackwell, Mrs. Brown, and Mrs. Redmond.

  Mrs. Redmond was the loudest. “I’m so worried that the Whitgrove girl won’t make it back from Boston with the bell in time for Christmas services.” She buttered a piece of bread as she talked. “It’ll just ruin the holidays, particularly after all the work we’ve done to raise the money for the bell. The train that she’s due back on should be here at noon tomorrow or the next day. I hope Mr. Humphrey hasn’t forgotten that he promised to install the bell.”

  Rand glanced up at the mention of his name and found all three women staring in his direction. Did every woman in town think he couldn’t remember not to squat with his spurs on?

  The woman answering reminded Rand of a black widow. “That is, if the snow doesn’t hit. I’ve been around these parts for years, and I’m concerned that we’re fixin’ to get another snow and it’s just now Christmas week,” said Mrs. Blackwell.

  Mrs. Brown nodded in agreement and chomped off a huge hunk of biscuit. Between bites she said, “It’ll be one for the record books. I just pray we can have our Christmas Eve services before the snow hits.” She stuffed another piece of bread in her mouth. “If it does, we’ll be snowed in for days, and there’ll be no Christmas with or without our new bell.”

  Rand didn’t doubt the woman’s words for a second; and a silent prayer for no snow touched his lips.

  The cancellation of the Christmas festivities wouldn’t be any skin off his nose, but he knew it’d be disheartening to the citizens of Kasota Springs. He didn’t much want to admit it, but in his own way and for his own reasons, he might be disappointed just a smidgen, too; although he’d never let anyone know. After all, he had a reputation to uphold.

  There had been little for Rand to be happy about for a while now. But his work with Tess Whitgrove, who had taken on the responsibilities of ramrodding the whole new Christmas bell shebang, had satisfied something in him. He’d reluctantly agreed to help her committee, making sure that the frame of the tower was adequately built and that the yoke was strong enough to handle the weight of the bell. Thankful for his experience building bridges before he came to Kasota Springs, the third-generation blacksmith didn’t take long to be talked into installing the bell when it arrived. This was his one and only charitable event of the year. Deep inside he had to admit that nobody—absolutely nobody—would ever know he sorta enjoyed being asked to help.